Threnody
by hisluvpet
Summary: Post-Wrecked. Spike finds Willow in an alley.


Title: Threnody  
Author: his_luv_pet  
Series: BtVS  
Part: 1/1  
Rating: PG-13  
Codes: S & W, S/B  
Summary: Spike finds Willow in an alley.  
Spoilers: Up to Wrecked  
Disclaimer: Come 'n get me, Joss, I'll sick *my* crusty minions on you!  
Feedback: Tell me -- his_luv_pet@yahoo.com  
Website: http://www.geocities.com/his_luv_pet  
Posting: Let me know...then sure!  
  
A/N: I'm not a Willow fan per se, but Wrecked got me thinking. Spike is just the person to get Willow back on track - who better than someone coming back from a bad place himself? Apologies to those who think I've written Wills worse than the latest crop of ME writers. Chuck - here's hoping this Willow works for you ;)  
  
***  
  
She moved in the entrance of the alley, little jerky movements. Never still, never really going anywhere. She was looking at the dark, dirty chasm, shaking her head, muttering to herself. Her face was flushed, hair crazy, clothes haphazard, her body in *pain*. Goddess, she hurt, she wanted, she couldn't go on, but couldn't go there, either. She knew if she went there, she might not come out. She was also afraid that if she did come out, she wouldn't be herself. But...she *had* to go there. She couldn't do this, wasn't strong enough, the pain was too much. Why did she always have to have this pain? Hands grasped her shoulders and she looked up with a gasp. She hadn't *felt* anyone coming.  
  
"Spike!" she yelped, jumping back.  
  
"What are you doing here, Red?" Spike growled in a low voice.  
  
"I'm, just, well, I'm..." she trailed off, knowing he knew.  
  
"You looking to go in then?" he looked over to the alley. Funny, he couldn't see anything. He squinted his eyes and tried to project his senses. Bloody hell, nothing.  
  
"Nooo," Willow denied automatically, then looked puzzled at Spike. "He's not *here*...Not that I was looking, well, I was, but I haven't found...You can't see that he's not here, can you?" she was really confused.  
  
"That's not the point, innit, Willow?" he shot back, discomposed by her odd perceptiveness while jonesing.  
  
"How come..." she drew in a deep breath and closed her eyes, fighting for composure. She lost. "Help me," she opened her eyes and begged him.  
  
"Help you what, Red?" Spike tilted his head as he looked at her. "Help you find the door? Get you what you need...just a little quick pick-me-up, maybe?"  
  
"Please, Spike, I want..." Willow looked at him, really looked at him. His face was implacable, emotionless, hard. But, his eyes, his eyes were alive with something. Was it pity, anger, anguish, disgust, perhaps caring? She stared into his eyes and they stood there for some time. Hitching in her breath, she ground out, "Please, help me. There's no one else." Sobbing, she held out her hands, reaching for him.  
  
He met her seeking arms and held her at arms length. "You want *my* help. 'There's no one else.' Christ, where have I heard this before?" he muttered shaking his head. He pushed his face up close to Willow's, flinging the words at her, "What the bloody hell makes you think I even care, Willow? Why me? I'm the vampire, remember? Soulless monster, really bad choice for assistance when you're at your rope's end, don't you think, girl?"   
  
Her mouth trembled, she had trouble forming the words, "But, you love Buffy..."  
  
"Oh, so I'm supposed to take on her junkie friend's problems 'cause *I love Buffy*," he sneered at her.   
  
"Ju-unkie?" she wobbled.   
  
"Junkie," he shot back in a terrible voice. At her recoil, he barked a laugh. "Did you think you could quit just like that, Red? How long's it been, one, two days?"  
  
"Two days," she replied numbly. She couldn't be a junkie; she just needed to stop, before she had a real habit.  
  
"Newsflash, pet," Spike sneered. "You've *got* a problem now. And, it ain't yours truly's problem, so I'm off," he pushed her away and started walking back up the alley.   
  
She fell to her knees, sobbing, then looked up to see that Spike had indeed left her there and was walking up the street. She got up and started running to him, staggering badly, unable to keep her balance. Somehow, she knew he was the key. He would be able to help her. Why, she didn't have the means to understand right now. She was running completely on instinct, which told her to trust the vampire who had once tried to kill her.  
  
"Spike," she called with her last breath, falling down now for real, not as a pity plea. She cried out as she landed on a storm grating and scraped her arm on the rough cement curb. Lying there, unable to move, unable to even cry, she trembled and began to wish for death.  
  
"You like putting on a show, love, you should make sure there's more than me as an audience," Spike drawled, lighting a cigarette and leaning up against a building near where she lay.  
  
"No show," Willow whispered in a lifeless voice. She looked at Spike. The glow of his cigarette arced as he threw it down and ground it out, less than half smoked. He stepped into a pool of light from the streetlamp and crouched down next to her.  
  
"What is it that you think I can do for you, Willow?" he finally said, his voice toneless.  
  
"Kill me," Willow replied brokenly.  
  
"I'm out of the death 'n destruction bit with humans, Willow. You know that," he tapped the side of his head where his chip resided.   
  
"You know other vampires," she said hoarsely. "You could have one of them do it."  
  
"I see," he sat back on his haunches. "You want suicide by vampire."  
  
"I want it to end," she ground out, finally rolling over onto all fours, turning her head to look at him.  
  
"Oh, end it all. Poor, poor Willow," he shot back with a laugh. "You're are the sorriest-ass excuse for a human being as I've ever seen, and I've seen a lot. Completely pathetic."  
  
"Pathetic?" she raised up to her knees and turned to face him. "I'm not pathetic," she was crying continuously now.   
  
"Sure you are, pet," Spike scoffed at her. "You're strung out, bottomed out, and drowning in a morass of your own self-pity."  
  
"You don't care, I'm in pain and you don't care," she wailed.  
  
"So, now you think I should care. Since when do you think I *can* care, Willow?" Spike moved closer to her, his voice remained implacable.  
  
"You care about Buffy...'n Dawn..." she sniffed.  
  
"Look around you, Red. Do you see Buffy or Dawn here?" he said cruelly.   
  
"I need help," she said in a stronger voice.  
  
"You may need it, but you don't want it," he shot back, edging even closer to her, getting into her face.  
  
Willow dug deep within herself, trying hard to think what would convince him she was for real. She came up empty; nothing was left. Her face reflected that emptiness. She slumped. Everything was truly gone now.  
  
Spike saw her defeat and sighed. God, she was tough. It had taken so long to beat her down. She had reached her nadir and was letting go. He reached out for her as she lolled over, uncaring and unable to prevent herself from tumbling back down. Catching her in his arms, he lifted her up onto her feet.  
  
"Stand up, Willow," he ordered. "Stand up and face your problems for once in your life, you stupid girl."  
  
"I don't know how," she said in a low voice.  
  
"Then it damn well time you learned, now innit?" he growled at her.  
  
She looked up dully, gazing into his face. "Can you teach me?" she sounded puzzled, her voice childlike yet weary.  
  
Spike barked a laugh and shook his head, "Got my own bloody problems, enough to fill the sea, pet. Why you think I'll be able to teach you anything is beyond me." He tugged her up straighter, then tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. His hand lingered, then slid to cup the back of her head. His face a study of compassion that he would have denied implacably.  
  
Willow's face crumpled for real this time. It was there, in *him*. She could sense it, and she sobbed earnestly, gazing at him. Spike swore, then tugged her into his arms, holding her she cried for her lost life, loves, and her place in the world. They were all gone.   
  
He cradled her as she mourned. It had happened to him not that long ago. Recognizing it had taken him a lot longer, but then he was a lot less smart than Willow. He'd never asked anyone's help for, preferring to beat his head against the metaphoric walls of his despair until he'd finally gotten it.   
  
"How long," she got out between sobs. "How long will it be like this?"  
  
"Grieving takes time, love," he replied, stroking her hair. "Takes as long as it takes. And this time, you're gonna feel every bit of it," his voice was fierce. "It's no less than you deserve."  
  
Willow continued to cry for a long time.  
  
Fin 


End file.
